


Before The World Ends

by sleepytorchary



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:37:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepytorchary/pseuds/sleepytorchary





	Before The World Ends

Everybody who believes in Hell knows it as a place of torture. Poets write of Hell as a pit, with rivers of boiling blood and molten coffins, with winged, horned demons stripping the flesh from the bones of the damned. A place where every foul, festering thing is brought to bear against the wicked, a cavern of fire, ice, and slime. What the books don’t tell you is that it’s so much worse.

              In Hell, you aren’t allowed the comfort of a body. Your soul is stripped bare, and you are left utterly alone in your suffering. Hell, in reality, is incomprehensible to human beings. Souls in Hell create hallucinations of torment, to cover up the far more painful truth. Pain of the body is far, far less agonizing then pain of the soul. And it was in this miserable state that Dean Winchester resided, even after being taken off the metaphorical rack himself.

              It had been years since Dean had taken Alastair’s offer, to spare himself the torments of Hell in exchange for dealing them to others. Time slowed down in Hell, and the days, weeks, and years blurred into an amalgam of agony. Dean felt less anguish then apathy now; for a soul to suffer many more years than it has existed in the mortal realm twists it into a thing far weaker than at the time of its creation. His rage, his guilt, his pain—all emotion decayed to a dull ache in the back of his mind.

              After the first few times around, he stopped noticing the forms of the souls he visited. Torture became nothing more than a commonplace exercise. The laughter of the demons blended into the cacophonic screaming of the damned. And this is how he would spend eternity.

**…In the Realm of the Living**

              Only a few months had passed since Sam’s brother’s demise. To Sam, the interval seemed even shorter. He had been doing what he always did; saving people, hunting things, the family business. Even if he was the only one left.

              Ever since his defeat of Lilith, he had been meeting with Ruby more frequently. He learned things beyond exorcism, to the point of utterly annihilating demons with his mind. He didn’t like the means, of course—drinking demon blood would be objectionable to any sane human. But it got the job done, and in his mind, that was enough. Letting your own brother die is about as far as you can fall.

              Tonight, however, he was alone in his dingy motel room. The sole source of illumination was the blue glow of his laptop screen, covered in an incongruous cluster of hacked police intranet reports and sensationalist news articles. All the murder the Web had to offer.

              The digital clock on the bedside table read 9:44 pm. So far, most of the violent crime he had uncovered was of the more mundane variety. He was about to retire when a line of red text flashed across his screen, followed by an image: Sleepy Hollow Police Department—Suspect in decapitation taken into custody. More surprising, however, was the picture that followed. It was a blurry photograph of a man dressed entirely in Revolutionary War garb, covered in dirt and snow.

              Sam arrived in Sleepy Hollow, New York by morning. As far as he was concerned, this was an ordinary gig—FBI outfit, fake id, the usual. To Captain Ichabod Crane, however, life in the 21st century was an all-new experience, to say the least.

**…Earlier**

              Transportation, firearms, and even architecture had changed immensely over the course of over two hundred years. The officer transporting him, Lieutenant Abigail Mills, seemed nearly as confused as he was. She didn’t seem to entirely believe his story, but she did seem more trusting than her superior officers. Apparently, trusting enough to violate orders.

              When they arrived at the cave Ichabod had emerged from—rather than the psychiatric ward Abigail had been ordered to take him to—it was nearly midnight. Evidently, the other officers hadn’t come this far in their investigation, for the cave was just as he had left it. His Bible lay mud-caked but intact in the snow. As of tonight, it was merely evidence to support his fanciful tale. Later, it would represent so much more.

**…The Following Morning**

              “I’m Agent Rodgers, investigating the death of August Corbin.” “Sheriff Frank Irving. Pleased to meet you.” The sheriff examined Sam’s ID warily. “The Bureau is involved in a small-town case like this?” “We’re just following orders.” “Alright…well, we’ll show you what we have, but it isn’t much. Our lead suspect isn’t exactly a reliable witness, either.”

              Sam followed Irving into the precinct. “And this suspect—you say he’s at Tarrytown Psychiatric?” “Yes, but I doubt you’ll get much out of him. He seems to think he’s a time traveler. Claims he was a captain under General Washington.” Sam looked inquiringly. “Yes, _that_ General Washington.” “I see. Well, Officer, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see the body.”

              The morgue was empty save for August Corbin’s body. It wasn’t an ordinary corpse, even by decapitation standards. The stump of the officer’s neck was cauterized, as though the weapon had been red-hot. This was new.

**…Back in Hell**

              Dean Winchester woke up to bright light. There wasn’t bright light in Hell, and come to think of it, there wasn’t really waking up, either. Everything felt different now, felt safer. It was like drifting up, and away. Like movement, for the first time in decades. It was change, and after 40 years of Hell, you welcome any change that comes your way.

              The first words Dean Winchester heard as he rose from the dead were his own name.


End file.
